


Humbler Than The Dust

by synchronized_strangers



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, False Memories, First Time Blow Jobs, Hallucinations, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Masturbation, POV Spock, Psychic Bond, Talk of Suicide, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronized_strangers/pseuds/synchronized_strangers
Summary: “It’s okay,” Jim says, smiling, which should be fine except that Spock knows what it looks like when Jim is lying. “It’s not like it was real.”“No,” Spock replies, averting his gaze. “It was not.”





	Humbler Than The Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Posted as part of the [Kirk/Spock Advent](http://ksadvent.livejournal.com) on live journal. Head over and take a look at all the fantastic contributions this year! I want to thank the mods at K/S Advent for all the hard work they do and for continuing this tradition. :)

There is a high-pitched and insistent alarm going off in the room somewhere on Spock's left and a small handful of nurses rushing around speaking to him. Urging him to lie back down, all of them struggling to restrain him to little effect. He brushes them off carelessly, ignoring the sound of pain from one of them.

He claws at his own face trying to reach inside and quiet the hideous ache. The horrible silence that no noise can fill.

“Easy, Spock! You're okay!” McCoy is on the ground beside him. When did they end up on the ground? “Get me those sedatives, damn it! Spock, breathe. You're okay.”

Spock does not recognize his own voice when he gasps, “There is a hole in my mind!”

“Jesus Christ, hurry! His blood pressure is off the charts!” McCoy tries to place a hand on Spock's shoulder and he recoils from it violently. The metal of his biobed dents against his spine.

“Jim! Where is Jim!?”

Someone gets close enough to administer a hypo of sedative, Spock does not see who, but from across the room he hears other monitors going off and at last hears the voice he needs even as he goes limp.

“Spock!” Jim coughs, his voice rusty with disuse, “Spock, I'm here. I'm here.”

+

“Hey, Spock?”

Spock does not glance up from the paper he’s grading, but he diverts some of his attention to Jim who is gazing contemplatively out the window, steam from his mug rising gently in the cool air. The farmhouse is poorly insulated, a problem Jim refuses to address no matter how often Spock suggests it.

“When did I retire?”

“After the defeat of the Klingon Empire.”

“Right, but when was that? What year?”

Spock opens his mouth to reply and then realizes he can’t remember. He stops reading the frankly subpar paper and makes a concerted effort to recall the exact year Jim resigned his commission.

After a few seconds he meets Jim’s eyes across the room and tries to keep the unease he feels from spilling into their bond. “I don’t recall. Perhaps--”

“When did my mother die?”

And once again, Spock fails to find the answer. It should be a simple question, but as he runs through his memory he can find no exact time for Winona Kirk’s death. There’s only an impression that she has been gone for a long period, her loss long since handled by her son.

Jim puts his mug down on the windowsill, his fear bleeding into the space between them, sharpening Spock’s own. He does not even point out that the mug will no doubt leave a ring of water damage on the wood.

“When did we bond?”

That should be impossible to forget and when he realizes he can’t recall Spock knows that something is very, very wrong. He searches his mind for any possible illness that would selectively impact his memory but even as he analyzes the medical possibilities he knows that isn’t what’s going on. There is nothing that would also affect Jim’s memory in this fashion and so it must be something else. Something other.

Spock stands and crosses the room to Jim seeking comfort in proximity. As always Jim obliges, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Spock’s neck. It’s a calming ritual and yet Spock cannot remember when they started doing it. He remembers the sensation, the act of it first occurring, but no date.

Jim presses his face into Spock's shoulder. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Spock wraps his arm around Jim’s waist and gives in to the urge to nuzzle his bondmate.

+

Doctor McCoy is, for some reason, angry as he explains the situation to them.

“You were both in that trance for almost a month. Not even the Vulcan healers could break through to you.” The doctor glares at the readouts on Jim’s biobed as though the information has failed him somehow. Although from his perspective, perhaps it has. “What do you remember?”

Jim lets out a wounded laugh. “Not much about what actually happened. I remember beaming down with the away team. That’s about it.”

McCoy nods. “And you, Spock?”

“As Jim says, I remember very little after we beamed down to the surface.”

“The rest of the team found you both unconscious at the bottom of a hill. We don’t actually know what caused this but the planet’s been marked hazardous just in case.” McCoy glances between them, “Do you… remember something besides what actually happened?”

Jim is very deliberately not looking at Spock. It is an infuriating habit that almost always precedes a fight but now, Spock can’t reach across their bond to discover what’s wrong. Because they are not bonded.

Jim Kirk is not his. It was the one thing Spock hadn't thought to fear and now it is the only thing he can feel.

“Yeah,” Jim says, his voice hollow and purposely blank. “Yeah, you could say that.”

+

“Are we to watch ‘A Christmas Story’ again this year?”

“Hey, if anyone manages to write a better story, I'll gladly watch something new but all the holiday vids for the last fifty years have sucked. That is not my fault.”

Jim drops the ridiculously oversized bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table. It is salted but there is no butter so that Spock can also partake if he wishes. One of the many small courtesies Jim adopted long before they were lovers but which still provoke a fierce affection in Spock's heart.

“Cheer up, Spock. You can pretend it's a meditative exercise.”

Spock drapes an arm along the back of the couch behind Jim's shoulders so that he can snuggle in. It will cause Spock to overheat in approximately thirty-seven minutes but he will be able to ignore the discomfort for seventy-five. And in the meantime, he can indeed ignore the movie in favor of appreciating the nuance of Jim's body fitting into his.

They fit together so perfectly.

+

McCoy has gone, awkwardly not saying all the numerous platitudes humans are so fond of using. Spock has apologized to Nurse Chapel for bruising her wrist earlier.

Jim stares at his hands as though palmistry were a true psychic art and he could divine his future from the creases there. Creases Spock can trace with his eyes closed though he has never touched them.

_Feeling half-mad, Spock falls to his knees and licks a broad stripe up Jim's palm. Jim's eyes drift closed with a groan as Spock's tongue flicks between the second and third digits, the taste of salt flooding Spock's senses as he laves at the fingers. His penis throbs and Spock presses down with the heel of his hand to sate his need for friction._

“I…” Jim opens and closes his mouth several times. “Spock, I don't…” He swallows and then rubs roughly at his face. “This is a literal mindfuck. I can't process this. I can't…

“We were married!” His voice cracks slightly with what could be grief. Or hysteria. Or both. The look in his eyes is more than a little wild when he finally looks up.

Spock fists his hands in the sheets of his bed so that he doesn't do anything foolish with them. Like reach for a bondmate he does not have. Or smash their very expensive medical equipment.

“Yes,” he answers, and it is such a stunningly inadequate reply but what else is there to say?

Jim's laugh is definitely tinged with hysteria. “Oh god, you're freaking out. I'm making this worse.” He sucks in a shallow breath and stands, crossing the room in two long strides to press their foreheads together. His hands slide into Spock's hair just like they always did and Spock hears himself make a noise that is pure grief. Raw, animal hurt.

“I need to meditate,” he whispers. “I need to restore my shields. I could injure you in my current state.”

“I know.” But neither of them move away and so they stay like that, faces close, sharing breath neither of them can catch.

+

“You cannot be serious.”

Jim rolls his eyes and taps his pad emphatically.

“Jim.”

“Spock.”

“This is not something you should decide lightly or in a moment of emotion.”

“And who says I'm lightly making this decision or that this is a moment of emotion?” He tosses the datapad aside, his frustration evident in the unnecessary force. “I'm not actually an idiot, you know. I do think about things before I commit to them.”

Spock raises his eyebrow.

“Fine. I sometimes think about things before I commit to them and this is one of those things.”

Spock shifts until he is facing Jim on the couch. “It is normal to feel--”

“I swear to god, if you try to give me some pop psychology bullshit I will shave your eyebrows in your sleep.”

Spock blinks. “I fail to see how that is a threat, but I will defer to your wish. Instead, let me remind you how unfulfilling you find inactivity.”

“I know that. I'm not planning to stay inactive but…” Jim sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his crossed legs. “I was a wartime captain, Spock. I'm glad we're at peace with the Klingon Empire but I don't think I can go back to exploration. I'm not… I don't know how to do that anymore. I don't know how to be that captain and that's who the Federation needs.”

“I see.” Spock picks up Jim's discarded datapad and begins drawing up the requisite forms.

“What are you doing?”

“I am submitting my request to return to teaching duties. You need not remain on Earth, of course, but it is only logical that I remove myself from field work until you decide what to pursue.”

Jim is still spoiling for an argument. His eyes flick suspiciously between Spock's face and hands. “You're not going to try to talk me out of it?”

“Would you like me to do so? I could point out that a war hero could be a powerful force of change advocating for peace projects. I am quite sure I could be convincing.”

“No,” Jim says but he does not sound entirely certain.

“Then I see no reason to waste time and effort on an unwelcome and likely unsuccessful attempt. To do so would be illogical.”

Jim stares at him for another few minutes before smiling. “You're really fucking annoying, you know that?”

“So I have been told.”

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

“That is Professor Idiot to you, as of now.” Spock hits submit and then leans in to claim his kiss.

+

Spock waits until Jim is asleep to venture out, but this cannot wait. Of all the facets of his life that chafe at him now this is the most egregious.

Nyota looks at him with great sadness as she opens the door to her quarters. “I tried to visit earlier but Leonard said it was a bad idea. I guess he was right. Do you want to come in?” she asks, gracefully stepping back to give him room to pass.

“Yes, thank you.”

Looking around is very strange. Spock has spent many hours here talking with Nyota. They have shared meals at the table, physical intimacies on the bed, and yet it feels foreign. Like stepping back in time. It is the familiar made bizarre by personal growth.

The feeling is unsettling, but confirms that he has come to the correct decision.

“Has Dr. McCoy explained to you the nature of our illness?”

She nods, her voice and gaze steady despite the upheaval of the last several weeks. She is a steady person. It is one of the qualities Spock admires most in her. “He said you and the Captain were thrown into some kind of telepathic link and experienced a shared hallucination. He didn't give me any of the details, but the way he said it told me that whatever you shared was… intense.” She lifts her chin to meet his eye. “I understand if you need some time apart to process whatever happened to you, and I want you to know I am still your friend if you need to talk about it.”

Spock shakes his head. “I am not prepared to discuss what happened to me, but I do know it has changed me irrevocably and that I cannot continue a romantic relationship with you. I am truly sorry, Nyota. This is not…” He trails off, unsure of what to say.

After a few seconds, when it becomes clear that Spock doesn't know how to finish the thought she nods as though he already has. As if she has divined what he wished to convey without the necessary words.

“My offer isn't time sensitive.”

“You are a good friend. I am grateful to count you as one of mine.”

As he turns to leave Nyota calls, “Spock? Don't talk yourself out of trying.”

+

“It could be a computer simulation.”

Jim nods, his sharp blue eyes moving restlessly around the room. “Maybe a psychic attack? Or an accident. There's too many options and not enough to go on.”

“There is only one solution that I can see,” Spock replies.

“Yeah.” Jim lets his head fall back to rest on the wall behind him. “It feels like we've been here a long time already. I think we have to assume there's no help coming.”

The silence spools out like thread from a dropped bobbin, untidy, and Jim's voice wavers slightly when he speaks. “We could just stay here.”

Spock's heart aches with fear and sorrow, but the wrongness of this world beats at his senses now. The farmhouse no longer feels comfortable. It is a hostile enemy working hard to obscure the truth. He cannot remember what day it is, or what year. They never see any of their old friends and colleagues. They only exist, here, together.

How he never noticed before is baffling.

“It would slowly drive us mad. Now that we know, we cannot unknow.”

“I'm afraid.”

“As am I, ashayam.”

Jim blinks away a tear and swallows thickly. “What if we're wrong?” They are not. “Or it doesn't work?”

“Then we will face the next life together if there is one.”

+

Jim is not in their room when Spock returns and before he can check the impulse, Spock reaches for a nonexistent bond to find him.

It is like running into a darkened hall. There is nothing in that place now and the loneliness batters him anew. He feels ill

Jim's voice echoes down the hall and Spock realizes he is in McCoy’s office. The tone of his voice is angry, but Jim is often angry. There is so much unresolved anger in his mental landscape that Spock has learned to distinguish nuances of it. Like types of sand in the desert. To call it sand is to ignore what makes it dangerous.

This is a deep anger born of pain. Loneliness. The anger of Jim's childhood; his father's death, his mother's abandonment, Frank, Tarsus IV.

The kind of anger that might stem from a virtual stranger knowing all of your most intimate secrets.

There is a deep vein of anger in Spock as well. It was one of their many commonalities.

He makes his way to McCoy’s office.

“You shouldn't go back on active duty. Neither of you should until you've had some time to recover. This isn't some little stomach bug, Jim. You can't just ignore it and soldier on.”

Jim, for his part, looks deceptively calm. He arches a brow at the glass in his hand. Empty, but from the smell it previously contained alcohol. “I can't just sit around, Bones. You know what happens when I get bored.”

McCoy nods his head in Spock's direction. “Good news. You won't be. Spock, as of now you're both on medical leave until I clear you for return to duty. I don't want to see hide nor hair of either of you anywhere near the bridge, got it?”

“I have no intention of returning to work in my current state, but I would like to suggest you impose a quarantine on that planet for all telepaths.” Spock glances at Jim who is still staring resolutely into his empty glass and adds, “Whatever occurred, my telepathy may have exacerbated or altered it. It's possible the planet is relatively safe or safer for psi-null species.”

McCoy nods. “That's a good point. I'll add it to the report.”

Spock can feel Jim wishing him away but that trick has never worked in any life and so he says, “Jim.”

“Spock.”

Spock does not sigh. “This cannot wait.”

“Oh, but it can. Trust me.” He holds his glass out expectantly towards McCoy who caps the bottle very definitively. “You're an asshole.”

“It's almost Christmas back on Earth, Jim. Consider this my gift to you.”

“Fine.” Jim tosses the tumbler lazily to the doctor who catches it with the ease of practice, then brushes past Spock, every line of his posture radiating dissatisfaction. “My quarters or yours?”

“Either is acceptable.”

+

“What if your dad doesn't like me?”

“He will like you.”

“Dads never like me.”

Spock adjusts their speed as they breach Vulcan's outer atmosphere, the hull shuddering gently as they rejoin planetary space. “You are obsessing needlessly. It does not matter whether or not my father likes you.”

“It matters to me. I don't want my future father in law to hate my guts.” Jim absently tweaks their orientation and the shuddering reduces to almost nothing, the shuttle now sliding through the air with a minimum of friction. Jim is a gifted pilot. Had he not been so focused on command he could have been a brilliant helmsman.

“He will have no particular feelings about your innards, Jim.”

“Sure,” Jim replies amicably, “Except for the no doubt already churning desire to spill them across the burning sands of New Vulcan.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

“What's the fastest way to disable an angry Vulcan father, hypothetically speaking?”

+

The walk back is aggressively silent and Spock quietly adjusts his expectations for this conversation.

It's only once the door has closed behind them in Jim's quarters that he finally rounds to face Spock. “All right, what couldn't wait?”

Spock reflects that perhaps he should have meditated before attempting this conversation. He is having great difficulty suppressing his rage. Taking a long breath through his nose, he makes an effort to keep his tone neutral.

“I do not feel we can leave this unaddressed. We have both been through an emotionally traumatic ordeal.”

Jim is staring at him, mouth agape. “You want to talk about our feelings? Seriously? I think I'm still hallucinating. Pinch me.”

It would be an immature reaction to punch Jim in the face, so Spock punches him in the arm instead.

“Ow!” Jim cradles his left arm in an exaggerated show of injury. “What the hell, Spock?”

He can feel his control slipping with each passing second, but he cannot bring himself to leave. He steps into Jim's space, crowding him up against the table. “You think this is a laughing matter? You make jokes, now, having seen what you meant to me?” Jim opens his mouth to reply but Spock continues, talking over his captain in a gross display of misconduct but he finds he does not care. “That was not a true bond but you know now what having a bondmate is. You know what was snatched away from me - from us. You know what I have lost and you make jokes?”

Jim's eyes spark. “You think this is any easier for me? I had a fucking panic attack in the god damn sick bay when I woke up and you were gone. Bones had to sedate me so don't get all high and mighty like you're the only one who's grieving!” He jabs ineffectively at Spock's chest, then shakes his hand violently back and forth.

He has hurt his own finger. It is a familiar sequence and somehow it takes the anger out of both of them simultaneously.

Jim looks at his hand, his voice is low and unhappy. “You'd think I would have learned by now. Where did you go? To see Uhura?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay,” Jim says, smiling, which should be fine except that Spock knows what it looks like when Jim is lying. “It’s not like it was real.”

“No,” Spock replies, averting his gaze. “It was not.” He reaches out to take Jim's hand in his own, cradling it and at last he can feel again the sense of Jim's mind. It is a pale echo of a bond but it is better by far than the emptiness. “But that does not mean it was untrue. I told Nyota I could no longer be her romantic partner.”

Jim swallows. “You broke up with her.”

“Yes.” They are still standing closer than is appropriate. Jim smells like sweat and disinfectant, but under it is the animal scent of him. Spock has always found it an attractive smell and at the moment it is making him want to bite at the skin just under Jim's ear.

He looks into Jim's eyes so that there can be no mistaking his meaning. “I do not desire her as a partner now that I know what I could have. There is a word for what we were.”

“T'hy'la. I remember but that wasn't reality.”

“I believe it could be. You have many infuriating habits.” Jim blinks rapidly but does not pull away. “You never put away your datapad. I have found it in the officers mess on ten separate occasions. Your beard hair is impossible to clean out of the sink. You refuse to look at me when we are fighting.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel wanted.” He tries to pull his hand out of Spock's grip but Spock holds on and steps even closer, his hips pinning Jim's against the table. At this distance, Spock can feel the hitch in Jim's breathing and see his pupils dilate.

Lowering his voice, Spock speaks directly into Jim's ear. “You get goosebumps when I bite you here.” Spock sinks his teeth into the tender skin, sucks hard at the flesh and Jim arches his back, hissing, his skin breaking into gooseflesh just as Spock knew it would.

“Fuck me.”

“If you wish.” Spock grinds his erection into Jim's thigh, dragging his teeth down the skin of Jim's neck to his shoulder. “You are stubborn to a fault. You cannot resist a challenge even when it is wise to do so. You care more for others than you do for yourself.”

“You hated that,” Jim pants, sliding his free hand under the edge of Spock's shirt. “You never rinsed your damn plate before you put it in the fresher. You can't stand it when you're wrong. You never shut up about the drafty windows.”

“You will address that before I set foot there.”

Jim laughs and it has the same effect. Spock's heart lifts. “Bossy. You were always bossy.” And then he turns his head to catch Spock's mouth, his tongue sliding past parted lips.

It does not feel like a first kiss and yet they have never done this. They already know one another in every way. Jim knows just how to scratch at Spock's back to make him shudder. Spock knows how to tug at Jim's hair to make him gasp. Each touch is new and old simultaneously, past and present overlaid.

“You see? There was truth in what we experienced. It was not real, but it could be.” Spock rests his hand on the buckle of Jim's belt. He has never felt less in control or less inclined to rein himself in. “Tell me to stop.”

Jim pushes up at Spock's top. “Take this off.”

+

“How do you want to do it? Asphyxiation? I know Vulcan's have a higher tolerance for carbon monoxide than humans do but it would kill you eventually, right?”

“I would prefer not to suffocate in any form.” After considering for some moments, Spock pushes away from the couch. “I believe we will either need to use trauma or poison. Nothing else can be counted upon to end us both.”

Jim's laugh is a broken thing. “I guess you could crush my skull or something.”

The image is horrific to contemplate.

“No. I am significantly harder to kill. If either of us is to kill the other, you must kill me. It's the only way to be sure.”

Jim shakes his head, rubs at his eyes with both palms. “I don't think I have a murder suicide in me, Spock.”

“Then it will have to be a double suicide.” Spock eyes the old replicator and considers various ways it could be modified to produce illicit substances.

“Okay,” Jim whispers. “Okay.”

+

As it turns out, psychic sex only half prepares one for the real thing. Spock finds himself fumbling like he hasn't for years as he pushes Jim's pants down to free his cock.

He knows how to perform fellatio and yet the feeling in his mouth is foreign. He finds himself gagging slightly at the intrusion, his throat fluttering in protest as he tries to take in all of Jim's length.

Jim clutches reflexively at his hair so perhaps his inexperience is not a negative. “Oh my god.”

Spock moans and draws him deeper, ignoring the discomfort in favor of provoking that reaction again. The ache in his jaw is negligible. He needs far less oxygen than a human would in his place, but his body is out of sync with his mind so he holds Jim's hips in place.

Jim is panting above him, his hips bucking up uselessly under Spock's hands. “Spock, I'm going to come. You have to stop.”

That sounds like a horrible idea as far as Spock is concerned. He presses up with his tongue so that the head of Jim's cock drags across it with every motion and reaches down with one hand to cup Jim's testicles, rolling them in his palm to feel them draw up higher and tighter.

“Fuck!” Jim gasps, his body bowing forward as he ejaculates. By all rights it should be an unpleasant flavor, but Spock eagerly swallows until the bitter flavor is gone and Jim is a quivering mess above him.

He takes out his own penis and thrusts up into his fist. He imagines what it will feel like to come inside Jim's mouth, to see Jim on his knees, lips stretched and bruised from the force of Spock's thrusting. Perhaps Jim likes to be face fucked in reality as well.

Jim has never minded the difference in their strength because his trust in Spock is absolute. It is the thought of Jim's eyes staring up at him that drives Spock over the edge into orgasm.

Jim laughs a little, surprise and wonder competing for space in the sound. “That was embarrassingly quick. Come here.”

He draws Spock up until they are chest to chest, foreheads touching, his hand over Spock's heart in his side.

“You really want to do this?”

“Yes.”

Jim draws in a deep breath. “Okay. I'm in.”

+

“I fail to see the reasoning behind using a living tree as decoration when it will die as a result.”

Jim's breath hangs in the frigid air as they drag the tree toward the farmhouse. “It's the spirit of the season. You need a real tree. It's tradition.”

Spock makes a note to plant two trees in the spring to make up for this waste, but does not argue further. Human holiday tradition is always rooted in religious superstition and is therefore both illogical and comforting. It makes Jim happy to have a living tree. That is reason enough.

“Did your family celebrate on Vulcan?” The exertion has caused Jim's cheeks to pink in the cold. He clashes with both his bright green hat and his orange scarf, but Spock still finds him devastating. It is a most peculiar phenomenon.

Spock hauls on the lower branches and tucks his chin farther into his own scarf to warm his face. “No. My mother was Jewish by descent but did not practice the religion.”

“So this is your first human Christmas.” Jim drops the tree and steps in to give Spock a very thorough kiss. “Merry Christmas, Spock.”

Winter, Spock reflects, is not without its redeeming qualities.

+

“Seriously, I can't believe I have to go through this a second time. I have the literal worst luck in the universe.”

“Or the best luck in the universe,” Spock counters. “You have the luxury of a rehearsal.”

Jim spins in his chair, lolling his head back and forth absently. “Worst. Definitely.”

“I would expect your confidence to increase with experience.” Spock thumbs the shield deflectors to atmosphere instead of meteorite, slowing their descent.

Jim adjusts their course with barely a glance at the controls and the ship stops shuddering almost entirely. It is a perfect mirror of their first trip. Sometimes this life seems so aligned with the other it doesn't feel real, and sometimes it is so far removed Spock cannot understand how he believed it was genuine.

He reaches out to run his first two fingers down Jim's, the gesture returned in kind automatically. “You know it will be fine.”

Jim sighs and makes a visible effort to calm himself. He sheds his anxiety like water sheeting off rock. It falls away leaving only traces behind.

“I know you're right. It's just hard to relax.” Jim glances at Spock from the corner of his eye. “Do you ever feel like we're still walking in the shadows of the hallucination? Like everything we do is just an echo of something else?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you do when you feel like that? How do you prove to yourself that this is real?”

“I enumerate all the ways you have annoyed me recently.” It has the desired effect. Jim smiles broadly at him. “And then,” Spock adds, “I recall the exact date and time of each one. I search for the specifics of each occasion. All the tiny details that didn't exist there.”

“Smart.”

Spock curls their hands together and squeezes. “This is real, I promise you.”

Jim draws Spock's captive hand in to kiss his knuckles. “I know. Remind me again the best way to deal with an angry Vulcan father. Hypothetically.”

“Only if you agree to sample newer vids this year instead of ‘A Christmas Story.’"

“Mm, no can do, Spock. It's tradition.”

“Indeed.”


End file.
